


Masquerade

by EttelwenAilinon



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Romance, Sort of medievalïsh fairytalïsh AU, briefly mentioned Danny and Clara's mother and father, where Clara's a princess, whouffaldi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-16 00:54:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3468320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EttelwenAilinon/pseuds/EttelwenAilinon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She pretended to look at the other people but secretly examined him from head to toe out of the corner of her eye. From what she could see of his face she dared to say that he was much older than her other suitors. He had pale wrinkled skin, a beak-like nose and his eyes staring out of the mask were of bright blue colour, like the sky after a storm. The mask was crimson red, matching the lining of his black tailcoat. He reminded her of the stories about magicians she had loved as child.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Masquerade

**Author's Note:**

> It was supposed to be only one shot but they deserve more space so I guess there will be at least one more chapter :) Here it is on [Tumblr](http://ettelwenailinon.tumblr.com/post/112524562621/masquerade-chapter-1) and [DeviantArt](http://ettelwenailinon.deviantart.com/art/Masquerade-Chapter-1-517564765). Thanks to my wonderful beta [river-song1912](http://river-song1912.tumblr.com/)

She had used to love balls and birthdays but not anymore. It was her eighteenth birthday and she was supposed to choose a husband today. Somebody with a big army and pockets full with money because of the threat of war with the neighbourhood country. She didn’t want to but it was her duty. Her duty to the kingdom and its people. She had to protect all those innocents who had never caused any harm. Her father didn’t want her to marry either, not when she was so young, but it was their only chance to keep the country safe, since their treasure chests were almost empty. 

Although, not so empty they couldn’t arrange this pompous ball, she said to herself. She stood in front of the mirror as her maid was tying the ribbons on her dress. It was beautiful. It was the kind of a dress you have the chance to wear only a few times in your life, even when you are a princess. The top was white with black ribbons crossing her chest, and the huge flossy skirt, along with the short frilly sleeves, was the colour of the sky at the edge of the night.

She glanced at the doors reflected in the mirror. It was almost time to go down and join the eager company of dukes and counts and knights and princes and kings from other countries. She doubted that any of them could interest her in the slightest. She just had to choose the least painful way. 

There was only one boy in her life she had ever felt something for. He was a prince from the Southern Kingdom, Daniel by name. His skin had been brown; he had had lovely curled hair, a nice smile and kind eyes. They were supposed to get married. But he had died, under the hooves of his brother’s horse. It had been a year before. Now she had to go to the hall, dance and chat with every lord so-and-so from such-and-such and looking impressed with their vain stories about how they had barely survived this and that, how they had killed this deer and this bear. But the thing she wanted the most, was to lock herself in her room and cry.

She sighed. She mustn’t whine, she was doing it for her people and for their good. But she wished…she wished her mother were alive. She would understand. 

‘Thank you. You can go.’ She said to the maid when she finished tying the last ribbon. She could tie the mask by herself. The girl bowed and went towards the doors to exit but then she changed her mind and turned back to her lady. 

‘I thank you.’ The maid said like if she knew what was going in her head, and hurried out, before she could even say something.

*

It went like she had predicted. She danced with so many lords she lost count and heard so many boring stories that she stopped concentrating on them. (‘How many polar bears have you killed? Nine? You are an excellent hunter, sir.’; ‘You were surrounded with how many enemies? I’m glad you survived.’) Only a few of them tried to converse about something other than themselves and their braveness, such as music or art or literature, but they spoke in quotes from clever books without the slightest personal passion. These men were boring too, maybe even more than the first kind.

When she was in the middle of a story about how the gentleman she was dancing with had survived an attempt of assassination, she noticed him. He was standing in the faraway corner of the room with a glass of wine in one hand, the other casually tucked into his pocket, quietly observing the colourful blend in front of him. He looked different than the others. Maybe it was because of his grey hair or maybe it was something in his posture that made her eyes rest on him for a bit longer than necessary. The sharp eyes of his stabbed her like a dagger and if she had been paying attention to her current dancer before, now she definitely wasn’t.

She waited the long minutes until the end of the song. Then she apologized to the duke of Walsham (Welshman? Wiltshire?), grabbed the nearest glass, went towards the stranger and joined his tacitness, not too close to him but also not far away.

At first he didn’t say anything. She pretended to look at the other people but secretly examined him from head to toe out of the corner of her eye. From what she could see of his face she dared to say that he was much older than her other suitors. He had pale wrinkled skin, a beak-like nose and his eyes staring out of the mask were of bright blue colour, like the sky after a storm. The mask was crimson red, matching the lining of his black tailcoat. He reminded her of the stories about magicians she had loved as child.

Maybe it didn’t seem so when he was looking straight ahead, but he was fully aware of her attention. ‘Interesting, isn’t it?’ He said without looking at her. 

‘I beg your pardon?’ She lifted her eyes to look at him. 

‘Interesting how beautiful they can seem from the outside but so empty on the inside.’

‘I don’t think I know what you are talking about.’ She returned her gaze to the dancing crowd, confused. 

‘You know perfectly well. I’ve seen your face before. You are bored with them. I don’t know why you waste time with this pointless chatting they do.’

‘And I suppose that chatting with you would be less pointless.’ Her voice was edgy. 

‘Yes.’ He said simply.

She looked at him, eyes sharp with crossness. ‘I don’t know who you think you are and who gave you the right to say such things, but I won’t listen anymore.’ She snapped, turning away from him. She knew, deep in her heart, that he has right, but it didn’t give him the right to behave like that.

He caught her arm and forced her to stay. His hand was cold and he was gripping her more tightly than was necessary.

‘I’m so sorry for my rudeness, Lady Clara. I didn’t meant it like that.’

‘And how did you mean it?’ She said, lifting her chin. 

‘I meant it…I mean,’ he looked into her eyes, ‘that you are much more interesting than any of them.’

‘Am I?’ She raised an eyebrow, overwhelmed with curiosity. 

‘Oh yes, you are.’ 

‘And how do you know that? You just met me.’

‘Observation and my own experiences.’ He said, turning his attention back to the dance floor. She wondered if anyone had noticed their little corner drama. 

‘Tell me about your experiences then, Lord…’ She asked him, making him look back at her. 

‘Oh, my apologies, Lady Clara.’ He bowed. ‘My name is Lord Comhachag Dotair.’ She suppressed a very uncourteous giggle building in her throat as she remembered good manners. The name wasn’t his fault, of course. And it wasn’t so bad anyway, it fitted him well. Maybe it was bit unusual but… an unusual name for an unusual man.

‘Nice to meet you, Lord Dotair.’ She said with a smile, offering him her hand. He took it lightly and placed a small chaste kiss on her knuckles. His lips barely touched her skin but it still made her shiver. 

‘Nice to meet you too, Lady Clara.’ He said, voice more hoarse than before. He kept looking at her with such intensity that she couldn’t hold his gaze any longer and moved her eyes away.

‘What about going back to them and dancing? My absence could get suspicious. You can tell me your story then.’ She suggested.

‘I would be pleased.’ 

*

They joined the other pairs swiftly, as if they had never been away. The song was nice, piano and violin and flute. They danced without any words for a while. 

It was strange but despite their first quarrel she was quite enjoying this. To sway and turn like this with their hands barely touching, as etiquette required. He was much more interesting and entertaining than any of the others. He seemed to be deep with so many layers she could discover. He didn’t let her mind rest. She often caught herself secretly glancing up, under her long lashes observing his raptor features. She soon knew every wrinkle around his mouth, every little fold of skin on his neck, that she could paint him. But still, the mask gave him some sort of mystery.

When he finally spoke, it was like a whisper. She had to strain her ears to hear something. 

‘When I was young, your age, my parents wanted me to marry some countess, or preferably a queen, who could fulfil their ideals of perfect wife. That meant rich. We didn’t even need the money because we were already quite well-off, but my parents wanted more. They wanted to be richer than the king.’ He said, a sardonic grin twisting the corner of his mouth. ‘So they hosted all those overblown balls and banquets, as proof of their own wealth and to gain more of it. I always went, quietly suffered, talked with the guests, but it wasn’t enough for my parents. They were furious because I wasn’t engaged in the kind of things they were. I wanted nothing of it. I wanted to be free, to read the old alchemist books from our library, to ride my horse, to discover all the corners of our land. But they didn’t let me.’

His eyes suddenly looked so sad that her heart ached. 

‘But you haven’t married anyone. You wouldn’t be here if you had.’ She said, smiling reassuringly. 

‘No, I certainly haven’t.’ The bitterness in his voice stopped her from asking more questions. There was something more he didn’t want to tell her. She wanted to know what made him so sad and help him, but she didn’t know how.

He shook his head and tried to smile. ‘So, you know… I know how you feel.’

‘Maybe. But there’s a difference between us. I understand your situation, it was undoubtedly hard but you didn’t have to…well you had to but…’ She let out an exhausted sigh. ‘Nobody is making me do it but I have to. It is my duty. I have to choose between these dull but affluent blockheads and marry one to protect my people.’

He lifted the corner of his mouth in amused grin when he heard her language. 

‘And I think,’ she continued - once she had started she couldn’t stop - ‘that my head will blow up from their silly stories and I just-’ 

‘Come with me.’ He interrupted her. 

She gave him a confused look. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘Come with me.’

‘Where to?’

‘Out. For a walk. To clear your head.’

‘I don’t think I can now. My father-‘

‘Your father’s got different interests now.’ He said pointing to the throne where her father sat. He was chatting with one of the mothers of the princes. And he looked truly engaged in the dialogue. He was laughing. She hadn’t seen that often since her mother’s death. She returned to the waiting face of Lord Dotair.

‘Well, lead the way then, Lord Dotair.’ She said, feeling a little bit guilty for sneaking out and leaving all those keen lords here without her presence, but it was soon over when she imagined what it would mean if she stayed here longer. But the guilt for her people was still burning at the corner of her mind.

He smiled at her and offered her his arm, which she gladly accepted.

**Author's Note:**

> The name Lord Comhachag Dotair is from Scottish Gaelic. Comhachag means owl and dotair means a doctor. And I guess you know why I choose this name :D


End file.
